


Demon Days

by keepthepeacee



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: F/M, Not a Love Story, Phase Two (Gorillaz), some fucked up romance type thing though, there will be smut, trying to stay canon for this, welcome to my hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2018-07-24 20:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7522624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepthepeacee/pseuds/keepthepeacee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're currently trying to drown the sorrows of failing your finals at the local pub when somebody makes a move on you. You certainly weren't expecting to be hit on, let alone by somebody of his nature. You deal with hell enough at uni, do you really want to tempt fate with the man who sold his soul to the devil for a guitar?</p><p>Eh, I'll write up a better summary in the future. Take that for now.</p><p>Tags will be added in the future, if I'm missing any please let me know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old Habits Die Hard

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO; Let me first start by saying I started writing this at 3am while mildly intoxicated. I had been on a Gorillaz binge, listening to Demon Days and scouring the internet for any and all fanfictions belonging to the fandom. Specifically anything Murdoc x Reader. And let me just say: I am fucking disappointed. I know a lot of you out there arent totally head over heels for the satanic bastard like I am, but hoo boy, I couldnt find anything that really tickled my fancy. Everything out in the fandom makes Murdoc out to be some sweet guy inside of his rough exterior. And let's face it, he's a cunt. I'm pretty sure it's physically impossible for that bastard to even really LOVE somebody. 
> 
> So, that being said, This is NOT going to be a love story. This is going to be my interpretation of what it would be like to have some semblance of a relationship with the gross green man we all know and love. The rest of the band will be around, for the sake of the story, and I do intend this to have several chapters, as I write a lot. I apologize ahead of time for my real-time style of writing, it's very detailed and drawn out. But I felt the fandom was really lacking some canon content of our satanic bassist, so here you go. I hope everyone enjoys the shit coming from my head in the middle of the night!
> 
> I expect to update this fic once a week? Something like that? Not sure. I'm writing as my muse lets me, and this is my first time sticking my foot into this fandom. So please bare with me <3

Burning. The sensation that slides down your throat as you down the shot of liquor in the glass which had been placed before you on the bar. You inhale sharply, enjoying the feeling as the alcohol makes its way down your esophagus to your stomach. You’ll regret drinking this much one of these days, however tonight is not the night. Why are you even here? Oh that’s right. You’d failed your finals.

You’re an american girl who had traveled overseas to finish your studies. Instead of going to college in the United states, you’d opted to come to the UK for university. Better learning environment, better prices for school... and well, the accents were lovely too. It’d been hard enough finding your way here at first. You didn't have many friends and people found your personality a bit off putting. Oh well, who needs friends anyways?

So here you are, sitting in an english pub at 1am, drinking away your sorrows of failing your finals. The bartender gives you a look. He doesn't think you need anything else to drink, but you have other ideas. You nudge your shot glass in the man’s direction, indicating you’d like another shot. He seems to sigh, filling the glass again for you and noting that you’re done for the night. You take the glass with a grumble, downing it and slamming it back onto the bar top. God do you love the feeling of drinking. Nothing beats that hot sensation as it rolls down your throat.

Realizing you won't be able to get anything else to drink here, you climb down from your stool, tossing several bills onto the counter for the bartender. You’d left him a generous tip for dealing with your alcoholic ass. You pull your phone from your pocket, followed by your earbuds, shoving them into your ears as you turn on music to keep yourself sane for the dreaded walk in the dark. The streets here in england weren't exactly the most fun place to be at night, and you prefered not to walk alone in silence, especially at this time of night. 

Shoving your way through the exit door, you find yourself quickly surrounded by the silence of the streets. Streetlights illuminate the darkness as you glance down at your phone, scrolling through the songs. You quickly settle on one of your favorite songs. “Fire Coming out of a Monkey's Head” by the Gorillaz. Ever since you’d made the move to England, this band had seemed to take over. They were a hit. And you of course were a fan.

 _Once upon a time at the foot of a great mountain,_  
_there was a town where the people known as Happyfolk lived,_  
_their very existence a mystery to the rest of the world,_  
_obscured as it was by great clouds._

You found yourself falling into step with the sound of the music, mouthing the lyrics to the song you’d heard a million and one times now. Demon Days had been the first album you’d gotten when you came overseas, it had been out for only a few months and people were talking about it like crazy. You just had to get it and see what the hype was all about. Little did you know it’d become one of your favorite albums you owned.

 _Here they played out their peaceful lives,_  
_innocent of the litany of excess and violence that was growing in the world below._  
_To live in harmony with the spirit of the mountain called Monkey was enough._  
_Then one day Strangefolk arrived in the town._  
_They came in camouflage, hidden behind dark glasses, but no one noticed them: they only saw shadows._  
_You see, without the Truth of the Eyes, the Happyfolk were blind._

As the chorus comes on, you find yourself singing the lyrics out loud. You’re not paying any mind to those around you as you sing the lyrics to yourself.

“Falling out of aeroplanes and hiding out in holes  
Waiting for the sunset to come, people going home  
Jump out from behind them and shoot them in the head  
Now everybody dancing the dance of the dead,  
the dance of the dead,  
the dance of the dead…”

Your plan was to head down the road to the next pub. You weren't nearly drunk enough to call it a night. Not after the week you’d had. You fall into humming the song which was still playing as you rounded the corner, the next bar you knew was nearby coming into sight up the road. It’s a slightly run down looking pub, the kind of place you might see druggies hanging around. You might have to watch your ass around here. 

_In time, Strangefolk found their way into the higher reaches of the mountain,_  
_and it was there that they found the caves of unimaginable Sincerity and Beauty._  
_By chance, they stumbled upon the Place Where All Good Souls Come to Rest._  
_The Strangefolk, they coveted the jewels in these caves above all things,_  
_and soon they began to mine the mountain, its rich seam fueling the chaos of their own world._

With slightly hazy vision, you push on in the direction of the pub. Your pace is set in time to the music and you’re mouthing the lyrics to yourself. 

_Meanwhile, down in the town, the Happyfolk slept restlessly,_  
_their dreams invaded by shadowy figures digging away at their souls._  
_Every day, people would wake and stare at the mountain._  
_Why was it bringing darkness into their lives?_  
_And as the Strangefolk mined deeper and deeper into the mountain,_  
_holes began to appear, bringing with them a cold and bitter wind that chilled the very soul of the monkey._  
_For the first time, the Happyfolk felt fearful for they knew that soon the Monkey would stir from its deep sleep._

As the tone of the song changes, so does the atmosphere around you as you walk up to the pub. There’s people standing outside, leaning against the building as they smoke their cigarettes and talk loudly. Kind’ve surprising to see a no-smoking pub, especially one like this. You had expected these kind of places to be, well, less than classy.

 _And then came a sound. Distant first, it grew into castrophany so immense it could be heard far away in space._  
_There were no screams. There was no time._  
_The mountain called Monkey had spoken._  
_There was only fire._  
_And then, nothing._

The song moves back into the final verse, and you find yourself pushing open the door to the pub and walking inside. To your surprise it reeks heavily of smoke and alcohol in here as well. So much for the non-smoking thought. 

_O little town in U.S.A, your time has come to see_  
_There's nothing you believe you want_  
_But where were you when it all came down on me?_  
_Did you call me now?_

Nobody seems to even notice you as you walk through the door. You find yourself a seat at the bar and order yourself another shot of whiskey. At some point you’ll have to quit drinking like this. It’s no good for your health. You down the drink quickly, before the bartender brings you another and sets it in front of you. You peer up at him with a questioning look. You hadn't ordered another shot yet. The man seems to shrug, pointing down the bar. Oh, so the drink had been bought for you. Lovely, now you’d have to deal with some drunken asshole on top of everything else.

Exhaling a sigh, you grasp the shot gently and peer down into it. You’re capable of making horrible life decisions in this state of mind. You secretly hope that the man who bought you this drink wasn't attractive. Maybe you could just turn him down gently and sneak out of here after a few more drinks. You allow your gaze to stay focused on your glass as the man who bought it for you moves to the empty seat on your right.

“So, love, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Oh god, that accent. Heavy, thick and very, very british. You inhale sharply, followed by a slow exhale as you try to catch yourself. No matter how long you spent in this country, a good accent was still enough to send your stomach doing flips with nervousness. You find yourself biting your lip, as you lift your gaze slowly to see who it possibly is that chose to sit next to you.

You try your best not to seem startled. Eyes widen as your jaw nearly drops. You’ve been listening to the music long enough to know exactly who was sitting beside you. You can't catch yourself however as you sputter out his name.

“Murdoc Niccals…”

He seems amused. His lips curl upward into a smirk, as he grabs his own drink from on the bar and swirls the liquid inside of it. His eyes never leave you as he takes a drink of the rum. 

“In the skin, love.”

You take a moment to look him over. You’d seen this man a million times in the music videos, and even once on stage at a concert, but never up close. His skin is olive colored, borderline green. How does he manage that kind of fashion statement? You’d probably never know. He still had that classic bowl style haircut which seemed to be the only thing that suited his face, and you can't help but stare at his nose for a bit too long. It’s entirely out of whack from all of the punches he’s taken over the years. Your eyes meet his, and he knows you’re taking your time to take in the full picture. It is overwhelming after all to have somebody famous buying you a drink. 

“Like what you see?”

He’s trying to keep the laughter out of his voice. He must get this reaction from fans often. He has on a dark grey turtleneck and a pair of black jeans, his classic upside-down cross necklace hanging around his neck. You finally pull your eyes away from him long enough to down the shot which you had been ignoring up until now. You swirl the liquid over your tongue for a moment, before swallowing. The burning liquid saturates your palette momentarily as you exhale a warm breath, enjoying the sensation once more as it slides down your throat. 

“Just not used to seeing you with clothes on, I guess I should feel honored.”

You put on a smirk, trying your best to seem “cool” even though you’re losing your nerve more and more each time he speaks. Why was he talking to you anyhow? You’re just some dorky little american girl with a decent sense of style and a desperate need for alcohol. You looked like every other early-20s punk/rock chick in this town. Pixie style haircut, short in the back and long in the front with your bangs swooping over your right eye, your hair a faded pink now although it at one point had been a bright red. Typical band t-shirt and ripped skinny jeans. You were nothing special to look at and you certainly weren't looking your best right now.

You’re well aware that Murdoc is notorious for picking up broads at bars and taking them home to his winnebago for a good time. You were certain that was most likely his intentions here as well. However there’s many other girls in this bar he could have had his choice of, many of them much more attractive and plenty easier than yourself. For instance, the blonde down the bar seems drunk enough to walk right out of here with. You can't help but wonder why he didn't go after her instead. The green demon beside you seems to catch the look in your eye, a strong chuckle slipping from his lips.

“Easy broads aren't worth my time anymore. Plus, you looked like you needed some cheering up, love.”

God, you could really get used to that nickname. You’re aware he calls all females that, but the way it rolls off his tongue… so good. What is it with you and accents? Why the hell did you move to a country chalk full of gorgeous ones if you can't even keep your cool around them? Oh yeah, because you’d rather shag a guy who had a perfect voice and a less than okay face than anything you’d seen back in the United States. You roll your eyes a bit, huffing in response, attempting to be stubborn. The man next to you seems fond of your attitude.

“There isn't enough alcohol in this bar to cheer me up, sunshine.”

You throw the pet name back at him, heightening the sarcasm in your voice as you wave the bartender back over. Pushing the shot glass back to him, you pause before letting it go.

“How much just to buy the damn bottle?”

You’re doing your best not to stumble over your words, and irritation is clear in your voice. You’re over 10 shots in, why aren't you drunk yet? As much as you enjoy Murdoc’s company, it doesn't help the fact that you’ll be stuck in uni for yet another damn year thanks to failing your finals. The bartender seems taken back by your strong tone, and sets the bottle down on the bar before walking away. At least he’d given it to you unlike the last bartender who didn't even want to feed you any alcohol. You may be small, but you’re fierce. 

Murdoc tilts his head towards you, eyes falling on you once more as he lowers his glass back to the bar. 

“If you’re trying to get wasted, you’ll need something stronger than that.”

He motions towards the bottle beside you. You frown and wrap your hand around it, pulling the bottle towards you firmly and tilting it back to read the label. 40 proof. Well hell, you’d drank stronger shit in the states. No wonder it was impossible to get drunk around here. Frustrated, you place the bottle back down on the table and turn on your bar stool to lean on the bar and face the man next to you. 

“Noted. So, enlighten me, mister ‘founder-of-the-hottest-band-in-the-uk’, what brings you to this shitty little pub? And why are you sat next to me?”

Your confidence is back in full swing, at least for now, and you planned to make good use of it. You watch as his lips curl into a devilish grin, exposing his sharp teeth. His gaze is dark, just like the rest of him. You’re a spitfire. He likes that about you. When he’d seen you enter the bar he had a feeling you’d be a difficult catch. 

“I’m sure you already know why I’m in this bar, love. As for why I’m sat here next to you? I like a challenge.”

Brushing your bangs out of your eyes, you allow a snide smile to come across your features. A challenge indeed you would be. However famous Murdoc was, that’s all he had going for him. He was definitely not the most attractive guy you’d had hit on you. Sure, you had a weakness for his dominant personality and that voice of his, but you weren't going to let him know that. He’d have to work for it.

He turns his attention away from you momentarily to pull a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Drawing one from the pack, he sticks it between his lips and reaches towards his pockets again for a lighter. You’d known he was a smoker, at least from the promotional photos you’d seen they advertised him as one. Your eyes follow his hand as he draws the lighter from his pocket, flicking it and lifting the flame to the cigarette in his mouth. You watch as he takes a long drag, lighting the cigarette and exhaling the smoke slowly. He seems to pay you no mind while he does this.

The strong scent of nicotine makes your stomach churn slightly. It’s been a few weeks since you’d caved and given in to your own addiction. You frown and turn your attention away from the man next to you, back to the bottle and glass on the bar as you straighten up in your seat. Rather than pouring another shot, you grab the bottle and take a drink from it in an attempt to distract your senses from the smell of smoke. Murdoc seems to take notice of the fact you’re avoiding the smell, and pulls the pack from his pocket once more, tossing it onto the bar in front of you.

“Here, love.”

Your eyes fall to the pack of cigarettes on the bar top. The major problem with drinking for you is that it made you want to smoke. Although you were aiming to avoid giving into said habit, it would seem Murdoc had a different plan. You exhale a sigh, placing the bottle back down on the bar and running your fingers over the pack as you ponder taking one.

“I don't usually make this a habit.”

The words slip from your lips in the form of a grumble as you find yourself giving in and taking one from the pack. By the time you’ve got it between your lips, the man next to you already has his lighter out once more and lit for you. You lean forward, pressing the cigarette into the flame and inhaling to light it. The taste of nicotine hits your lungs hard, suppressing the craving that was welling inside of you. You close your eyes as you pull the cigarette from your lips and exhale, smoke curling from your lips. Murdoc chuckles at you as he turns his attention to you once more.

“What, the smoking? Or getting shitfaced at some run down pub?”

You frown, your gaze falling back to the bar once more. You don't really do either of those things all that often. Well, you were a fan of drinking, but you tended to do it at home. However tonight you didn't have any booze at home, and you hadn't bought any today due to your finals. Bad idea to procrastinate studying until the last minute. Couldn't even prepare for the worst.

Murdoc ashes his cigarette in the ashtray on the bar between the two of you (convenient, right?) and tucks the lighter in his pocket. He reaches for his glass of rum with his now free right hand, grasping the glass and lifting it to his lips to take another drink. You can hear the ice in his drink clinking off the glass as he lifts it, and you turn your gaze up from the bar, back towards the bottles of liquor lining the wall behind the bar.

“Both, however I usually drink at home. Old habits seem to die hard I guess.”

You sigh before taking another drag of the cigarette, exhaling slowly as the smoke clouds around you before dissipating. This idle conversation wasn't getting either of you anywhere. You were still having issues facing the reality that this disgusting human being had set his eyes on you. Weren’t they doing some sort of tour or anything for the album? Seriously, he had to have better things to do than hang out in a bar and pick up chicks. Maybe he just really liked being a manwhore.

Part of you was more than willing to go home with him. The hardcore fan inside of you was telling you to say fuck it, do whatever he wants, no matter how fucked up. Your brain on the other hand, the only sane portion of yourself, was telling you to stay far away. God knows what diseases this demon potentially has. He’s basically a slut after all. He’d do nothing more than use you and hurt you. You’d never heard of him actually having any actual feelings towards anyone for any given period of time. You scrunch your nose at the thought of Murdoc in a relationship, your gaze distant.

He finishes off his drink, lowering the glass back to the bar as he stares at you, watching you as you look off in the distance in thought. He’s not one to really care much for emotional bullshit, in fact he’d rather avoid it altogether. But he’s curious what’s running through that little brain of yours. He’s also curious why you hadn't gotten up and left. You knew who he was, meaning you must be a fan at the very least. This also meant you were aware of his habits and tendencies. So why hadn't you averted yourself from the situation? Instead you chose to stay right where you were, engaging in conversation with him. You’re either extremely brave or incredibly stupid. He’s not quite sure which yet.

Maybe you just weren't some clueless chick like every other girl he’d ever picked up. No, you seemed to be on a totally new level. He was right when he decided you would be quite the prize at the end. There’s a moment of silence between the two of you, and the air begins to grow awkward before you turn your gaze back to meet his. He’d been staring at you.

“Look Muds, I’m aware of what you do. Which is why I’m confused as to you being here right now. Frankly I’m not remotely close to what you usually pick up from bars like these. I look nothing like the chicks in the music videos.”

You pause to hit your cigarette once more.

“And even if I did want to go home with you tonight, which I may or may not be battling internally over that thought, I just failed my fucking finals and I’ve got a lot of studying I should be doing.”

You're frustrated, it’s clear in your voice. If it wasn't obvious before that you’re an emotional explosion waiting to happen, it certainly is now. Murdoc seems to have ignored most of what you said, selective hearing only picking up the fact that you may have been considering going home with him. His tongue slips from behind his teeth, sliding along his lips as a devilish glint shows in his eyes. You frown, knowing he heard nothing of what you said.

“God damnit, you really are as much of a slut as the media makes you out to be, aren't you?”

Your gaze has fallen to that tongue of his. Pointed, much too long to be human. You squeeze your thighs together and force yourself to look away, suppressing the feeling the stirs in your belly. Your brain was on the fritz, concocting scenarios of all sorts and fueling that feeling you were trying to ignore. 

Murdoc simply shrugs in response, before taking one final hit of his cigarette and putting it out in the ashtray. He hadn't even smoked the whole thing, what a waste. 

“Maybe I am, what of it?”

His tone is a bit harsh, and you roll your eyes in response, cursing yourself for finding his terrible mannerisms attractive. God, what is wrong with you? 

“You’re too much.”

You exhale the words along with a slight laugh, shaking your head slowly. He’s so full of himself. Turning your attention back to your cigarette, you take a few more puffs of the toxic smoke before forcing yourself to put it out. Gotta be better behaved, can't give in that easily. You keep reminding yourself of this, and there’s another moment of silence between the two of you before Murdoc speaks up once more.

“Make ya a deal, love.”

You quirk a brow at this, directing your attention to the green man sat next to you once again with slight curiosity.

“The night is still young, why not come meet the rest of the band and maybe stay awhile-”

He seems to cut himself off as he pushes empty glass back onto the bar, distracting himself momentarily. The pause leaves you hanging on this words, waiting for whatever he has left to say as you peer at him. He allows the silence to sit for a moment, before his tone lowers a bit as he finally finishes his sentence.

“And if anything happens, then so be it.”

With that he lets his tongue uncoil from his mouth once more, hanging haphazardly along his chin. The look is one you’d seen so many times before in music videos, but seeing it in person is a whole new experience. Your eyes widen momentarily in response to his vulgar expression, and you pull your eyes away once more as you clear your throat to ease the tension in the air.

“Fine. But it’s only because I’d like to meet the others.”

Murdoc retracts his tongue back into his mouth, snapping his jaws together into that now familiar smirk as he stands from his barstool. He goes to step past you, pausing and waiting for you to follow suit. This may potentially be a much longer night than you had originally expected.


	2. Writer's notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I TOTALLY DIDNT LOSE MUSE AND FORGET TO WRITE MORE OF THIS. NOT AT ALL.

Okay guys, so here's the deal. It's been like a year since I started this fic, and in that time I've had a ton going on irl. Lost my s/o of 9 years, struggled to get a job, and took a lot of time for myself to get shit together. That being said, I have a stable job now and my life is in check! So, I'm gunna slam y'all with a chapter tonight, and TRY to keep writing this. Thank you all for your patience... this fanfiction will get finished someday.


	3. Bad decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to follow the green man home; who knows, maybe this will be worth your time after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE JUST TAKE IT.
> 
> I hope my writing style hasnt strayed too far from the original path here. Bare with me, it's gunna be a long slow ride but I do have intentions on writing more for this. And if something fact wise isnt right, I'm sorry.

Well shit. Not only did you neglect to accomplish what you’d come to this bar for in the first place, you’d done the one thing you said you wouldn't do. Go home with somebody. At least this somebody wasn't just any old guy from the bar. At least this one had that fame thing going for him.

So here you are, following the green bastard from the building. You’d opted to leave the bottle of low quality whiskey behind, although you did give the bartender a generous tip for putting up with your frustrated behavior from before. Murdoc glances over at you, seemingly trying to get an idea of what’s going through your mind.

You’ve got a classic case of resting bitch face going on, which doesn't give him much to go by. You take a moment to check and make sure you still had your phone, which you do, and exhale a silent sigh as you know you’d be lost without it and all of your music which you were hoarding on the device. Looping your fingers through your belt loops on the sides of your jeans, you follow the man which had invited you home out of the bar. 

You begin to question your decision as he leads you down the block to a small parking lot. Look at you, wandering through the dimly lit streets of England with a man who had sold his soul to the devil. What in the world would your parents think of this one? You allow a small smirk to play upon your lips at the thought. You always were a rebel, and this was quite the proverbial “fuck you” to those who expected you to play by the rules. 

Murdoc seems to come to a stop before a large, black vehicle, and you pause, taking in the sight before you. You’d never seen this car before in the videos, it must be a new addition to their collection. The 1969 Chevy Camaro is in pristine condition (remember kiddos, this is pre-plastic beach, so I imagine the stylo car doesn't have bullet holes yet as Murdoc hasn't been running guns or having to run from anyone shooting at him.), painted a matte black with a large white star on either of the doors. You quirk a brow as you make your way around to the passenger side of the vehicle.

“Never seen this bad boy before.”

You casually comment, running your hand along the hood of the car as you move to the passenger door. Murdoc glances over at you, a devilish look in his eyes as he climbs into the driver’s seat. You climb into the tan leather passenger seat beside him, brushing your hands over the dash in awe of the vehicle. You _really_ like classic cars. Then again anyone who doesn’t enjoy a nice classic car should be shot in your opinion.

“You wouldn't have, love. She hasn't been in any videos yet.”

You can tell he’s fond of the vehicle. Hell, who wouldn't be? This baby is gorgeous. As he turns the key and the engine spurs to life, you inhale sharply, enjoying the sound. God damn, fuck regretting decisions, a ride in this car alone was worth making this choice tonight. The radio comes to life and Murdoc leans over to turn it down low enough that the two of you can hear one another over the sound of the engine and the music. 

“So, considering you’re a fan, who’s your favorite band member?”

The green demon beside you turns an eye to you as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Of course that would be his first question. What are you supposed to tell him? Are you supposed to openly admit that he’s your favorite? A light blush crosses your cheeks as you immediately turn to towards the window and attempt to force the color from your face. Murdoc seems to pick up on this, chuckling slightly.

“Really now? So you don’t fancy our lead singer, then?”

Your cheeks are practically on fire. You don't enjoy being put on the spot like this. You swallow the lump in your throat, glancing down to your feet as you force yourself to speak.

“2D is alright, but frankly he’s a bit too much of a softy for me.”

Murdoc allows his lips to curl into a mischievous smirk as he turns his attention back to the road. His posture for driving is terrible, his body hunched forward slightly as he peers over the steering wheel. It’s almost as if he’s too short to see, but you know he isn't and that’s just how he chooses to drive. Satisfied with your answer, he allows the conversation to drop off at that, leaving you to your own. 

You lift your gaze back towards the window. Right hand brushes your bangs back out of your face as your eyes fall on the streetlights as you pass. You’d come here with the expectation of going to school, maybe meeting some decent british dude, whatever. You didn't expect to meet anyone famous. You fumble in your pocket for your phone, withdrawing it and placing it on your lap. You turn the phone over in your hands on your lap as Murdoc takes a right onto a road that you know takes you out of town.

\--

The drive is short as you’d turned the music up a bit and drowned out the ride there with music. It’s not long before Murdoc takes another turn, this time up a dark road which leads to a set of gates which creak open slowly at your arrival. A graveyard? Really? What kind of aesthetics where these? (once again guys, this story takes place in approximately august of 2005. The cribz video has not been released yet, so we’re going into the house blind.) You quirk a brow as your eyes dance across the gravestones that the car’s headlights fall on. God this place could really give you the spooks in the right light. As if he can sense your nervousness, Murdoc tilts his gaze to you and speaks.

“Don't worry, the zombies are basically mindless and won’t bother you as long as you aren’t wandering out there alone.”

Your eyes meet his as he speaks, and at the mention of zombies yours widen significantly in horror. You grasp your cellular device tighter in your lap, scooting away from the window instinctively as you attempt to stay as far away from the hellish creatures that were loose in the grounds as possible. The green demon beside you takes notice of your reaction and exhales a strong chuckle at this, as he maneuvers the car up the drive to the top of the hill where the Gorillaz headquarters sat. 

“Awh, love, it just means you can’t go wandering alone.”

You frown, realizing you’d panicked slightly. Look at you, acting like a scared baby over some undead beings. You’re certain this place probably has plenty of strange things going on with it. After all, this was home to one of the strangest bands on the face of the planet. You figure you’ll just have to get used to it. It’ll be fine, right?

In the midst of your mild panic, Murdoc has maneuvered the car into what looks like a big underground car garage, parking it next to what you recognize immediately as the one and only winnebago. God, it looks terrible in person. The damn thing is a fucking mess! You can only wonder how much cleaning it took to really make that thing presentable for a music video. Not that Murdoc did that cleaning himself, we all know he had somebody else do it.

For a moment you just stare at the vehicle, not quite realizing that Murdoc had put the car in park. He peers over at you and quirks a brow.

“She’s beautiful, ey love?”

You hold back the nasty comment in your head as you direct your gaze sharply to meet his and just, nod. You can’t bring yourself to tell him the thing looks like a shithole. Nah, that would hurt his feelings (feelings you’re not even sure this man is capable of), or something. Idly, you find yourself fumbling with your phone in your lap until the man next to you just grins and shakes his head. He’s sure you aren’t telling the truth, but he’s not going to call you out on it. Nah, not yet.

“She’s something alright, that’s for sure.”

Regaining your composure you let the words slip from your lips and that smile widens slightly. And then you find yourself growing restless; the alcohol you’d drank earlier was still not enough to keep your buzz going strong. And that in itself makes you grumbly. Murdoc surveys your expression for a few moments, before opening that car door and sticking one foot out onto the ground.

“You planning on joining me or are you going to sit in the car all night?”

He’s looking at you expectantly. And for a moment you stare back, almost dumbfounded at the exchange that just happened. _Get out of the car you moron_. The thought tumbles through the back of your mind and you follow suit to open your door and climb out but not before giving him a look.. You certainly hope the inside of the studio isn't as trashy as Murdoc’s winnebago. Murdoc is right behind you in the motion, climbing out of the car and closing the door. 

And then the demon of a man does something you weren’t quite prepared for. He moves around the car, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to his side as he shuts the car door. You let out a little squeak of surprise, tensing up slightly.

“We’re here for a tour, remember?”

The words ride upon a slightly nervous, yet demanding tone as you speak. You’re not above having a good time, but the deal you’d agreed on was to take a tour of the studio and meet the rest of the band. You weren’t going to let him get away with being handsy all that easy. But you let him guide you over to what appears to be an elevator. An old one, that’s seen much better days, but the obvious exit to the garage none the less. Murdoc nudges the button idly with a finger, exhaling a chuckle and shaking his head.

“What’d you think I was doing, love?”

God, you cant stand his accent. It drives you nuts and makes you want to punch him all at the same time. _Punch him in the face. With your face._ You can’t help but squint as the thought runs across your mind. But the thought certainly isn’t wrong. You’ve got to do your best not to cave to the gross ass man clung to your hip. You know he’s just trying to be friendly. In his own weird ass way.

As soon as the elevator door creaks open, you’re stepping away from Murdoc and inside of it. He seems a little disappointed that you’ve removed yourself from his grasp, but he’s learning quickly that when he thought you were a challenge, he was right. You’ve got a lot more reserve than he’d expected with just how much you’d drank. The elevator shakes and groans to life as soon as he’s followed you in and the doors slide shut. And then he’s stepping next to you, almost too close for comfort, and tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants to wait out the ride.

**Author's Note:**

> Come harass me on tumblr to talk about the fic or just be friends:
> 
>  
> 
> [vvanderlcst.tumblr.com](http://vvanderlcst.tumblr.com/)


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